I mean, I'm not going to argue that they're stupid and that this really sucks. But I think this is hard for everyone, no matter how many times it's been.
[ boothill, hatless, is right up in his cell in the security room. he's kicked the bed in half and trashed whatever was on it. his knuckles have been beat up and scratched where they've fruitlessly punched at the walls, the iron sharp and frayed and broken, exposing the shadows and some wires underneath.
he's standing in the middle of the room, facing the broken bits of the bed. his head whips to whoever's walked in on him, his eye still glowing, sharp teeth bared in a scowl.
poor rupert. he does not eat anything.... let alone steak.... he can't even appreciate it because he's (static noises) ]
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w0, sunday 1.0
when he sees an unfamiliar face, though, he pauses to give a little wave.]
Hi. I don't think we've met yet...?
[said with a friendly tone, despite the circumstances.]
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'Ey, you're Rupert, aren't ya? Manwol's bud.
[ she did not specify this, but he assumes it's true. more importantly, he squats in front of porridge. ]
Who's this fella?
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[lightly curious more than anything, but he gives a little grin when boothill asks the next question.]
That's Porridge! You can pet him if you want, he's really friendly.
[true to that sentiment, porridge wanders towards him as he kneels, sniffing at him curiously.]
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Heh. So this is Porridge, huh? I wondered if you were just walkin' around with a big ole bowl of it.
[ he saw it on his passport. anyway, boothill's smile fades. ]
Said this was would be your third game. That right?
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Honestly, that's a fair assumption. It does seem like the kind of thing they would pull.
[his smile also fades a little, though, as he pauses for a moment.]
Yeah, that's right. But, well - you know. It is what it is.
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[ boothill seems genuinely upset by this. ]
Don't mean nothin' bad by this, but you seem like a normal as heck kinda guy.
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[a beat, and then a little shrug.]
I guess it depends how you're defining normal...?
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[he seems amused, but not in the sense that he's making a joke at boothill's expense. after a moment of internal debate:]
I'm a prince, actually. So. Probably at least a seven out of ten on the weird scale.
w0, saturday
Hey, Boothill.
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he's standing in the middle of the room, facing the broken bits of the bed. his head whips to whoever's walked in on him, his eye still glowing, sharp teeth bared in a scowl.
poor rupert. he does not eat anything.... let alone steak.... he can't even appreciate it because he's (static noises) ]
Let me outta here.
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I can't do that. [...] What happened?
week 7, tuesday
...Mornin'.
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...Do I want to ask?
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The pool was all wrapped up with a glitter bomb. So when I stepped on it with my spurs on... You know the rest.